Never Having To Say You're Sorry
by rupin
Summary: I'm not sorry, and I never will be. That's not why I'm writing this. I'm just reflecting on the past, my moves in this game. Nothing more.


I should be working on Almost but...this one-shot popped into my head and I couldn't NOT write it.

Go listen to "Being From Jersey Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry" by Cobra Starship. Gabe's vocals are just so haunting, and the lyrics are so amazing.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest Moon or the song "Being From Jersey Means Never Having To Say You're Sorry" by Cobra Starship.

…

I guess I knew what I'd have to do to get here.

I'd have to climb, claw, and kill. Whoever got left behind was just an idiot that got caught up in a game that they couldn't play. So, technically, it's all they're fault that they're lying on the ground twitching. They thought they could get in on the fame, they thought they could try, they thought that it would be easy. But you know the game that those people play where if you lose, you get sacrificed? Well, them trying to join us as unseasoned amateurs, who are too naïve and 'pure' to understand the true meaning of what it takes to get to the top is like trying to play that game for the first time. You lose, you die. It's that simple.

But the funny thing is that some people never learn. Some people can get hurt over and over again by something and yet they keep coming back for more.

Maybe I'm connecting these two topics somehow, but it's like that. The few who are trampled yet manage to survive just keep trying. They'll try and try and every time they'll be savagely beat. Just like people who fall in love. Some are smart enough to back out if they get hurt. Others will just keep coming back, begging for affection, thinking that the first hurt was just a fluke, it will never happen again.

Until it continues to happen.

And yet they don't give up, those poor souls.

I, obviously, am not one of them.

See, there are two types of people in the world. There are those that fall in love, and those that shun love.

I shun it.

Because, in order to get to the top, you can't let stuff like that get in your way.

You're probably wondering where I'm going with this rant. I don't know why myself. I just thought I'd get all my thoughts on paper. It's not because I'm sorry – far from it. I don't feel an ounce of remorse for what I did. It had to be done, ok? There was no escaping it. They had it coming.

I went to that dead-end town for one reason: to become famous. Yes, nothing happened there, but on the road to the top you have to take a few stops. And the only way for me to continue my journey was to stay there.

Perhaps the problems started because I stayed there for too long. Days, weeks, and months passed. Everyday I'd sit and watch the sunset, and sigh for I was still there, but simply think, "Fuck it, I can always leave tomorrow."

But leaving ain't that easy, you know? You can't just up and leave during lunchtime on some Wednesday and expect nothing to happen. You got to pack and plan, and somebody ought to notice while you're doing those two things and then suddenly there's a tear-fest while you're trying to leave and they're all begging you to stay and _damn._ You're screwed.

At first, I intended to stay there for a few weeks. Gain some energy, plan some plots, promote myself a bit, and then leave the place and hope they don't cry.

Eh, it was going to work, until I went on that goddamn walk and met him.

That boy looked like he was on crack or something. He was bouncing up and down and yelling and he had blue hair that made you think 'what the hell?' and wonder how something like that could occur naturally.

That boy latched on to me at that second. I merely waved at him, barely smiling, and he just ran up and went all best-friend on me.

Every day he visited, every night he ate dinner with me, and every morning he was at my door. It was as if he never slept – he lived only for me.

Of course, he still managed to work, but every second he wasn't working, he was worshiping me.

Heh, it kind of prepared me for the future.

Still, I can't say I didn't like it. Because, you see, there was some sort of dedication in his eyes that could only possessed by someone who was more than a fan.

Possibly a stalker, or, more likely, a boy in love.

Yet, every time he came around, I'd hurt him. I'd abuse him. I'd lash out at him.

I'd yell. I'd scream. I'd shout. I'd snap.

"Get away from me!"

"I don't need your help!"

"Leave me alone!"

"Get out of my face!"

Part of me wishes that I hadn't. Not that I'm sorry or anything...I'm just saying. I'm not sorry. He had to learn. It's just that maybe I wish I didn't have to be the one that taught him.

I kind of miss those days with him. Even though I acted like I hated him, I secretly liked him. And I think he knew that.

But what was I going to do? Stay there forever? Psh, that's crazy talk. I needed to reach the top, and fast. 'Cause you know what? If you don't start climbing young, you'll never get far. One year off and you're behind the whole pack.

Life is just a game, ok? And staying behind in a town like Waffle is like waiting out three turns. All chances of winning disappear, and you are never going to get anywhere.

And you know what? In hindsight, I could have warned him. I could have taken him with me. But I was tired of waiting, and every night that passed where I said, "Fuck it, I can always leave tomorrow," gave way to another day where I'd forget to tell him, and those days only made me more and more impatient.

Not that I'm sorry that I left him there. I'm just saying, I possibly could have gave him notice.

However, I think Luke's ok. I'm sure he's fine.

He has to be fine.

There's no way he can be _not fine._

Because he's one of those people, that no matter how many time he gets hurt, he'll keep on believing. He'll keep on believing in love and finding a girl that he likes and that likes him back and having that fairytale ending.

Sure, he'll never admit it. He doesn't come off as that type, but beneath that hyper exterior, that's what he wants.

And ok, on some nights, I wish I could be the girl in his happy ending, with the lovely wedding and the cute kids and whatnot.

But I'm not.

And I don't want to be.

Or at least, most of the time I don't.

I'm happy being famous and living it up here.

I'm _happy._

I'm freaking fabulous!

I've played the game and I've won!

I've won!

I've _won!_

…

But have I played it well?

Have I truly won?

No! Don't let those thoughts stop me!

And for the record, I'm not sorry!

I'm never going to say I'm sorry!

Because I don't have to be sorry!

I did nothing wrong!

Life's just a game, and in games you don't apologize!

You just play.

And you hope to win.

And if you don't...

I'm still figuring that one out.

…

Bah. This is the result of two months of no writing. Crappy, but whatever.

Review, please!


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